


(I Look Through) The Windows of This Love

by lemonicee



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonicee/pseuds/lemonicee
Summary: He rolls to his side, fits into Eliot’s body like a puzzle. “I couldn’t sleep,” he sighs into Eliot’s neck, breathing in warm skin and home.Tag for episode 03x05.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83





	(I Look Through) The Windows of This Love

“This fucking sucks.” Quentin kicks his feet free of the fine Fillorian silk blanket he’s currently being suffocated under, and flips onto his side. The bed is too soft, the air feels stale, and, most frustratingly, he’s alone. 

His voice seems loud in the bedroom, echoing off the high ceilings. There are no birds or crickets or animals or...anything. There’s nothing. Just the echoing of his own thoughts in his head. 

He jumps when there’s a brief knock at the door, startled out of vague memories of sleeping under the stars, a solid body pressed beside him. It swings open before he can answer, spilling warm candlelight across the stone floors. Eliot is standing there, his messy hair framed in the doorway, and Quintin lets out a breath at the sight of him. 

“Uh, hey.” Quentin sits up, shoving his hair out of his face, and looks up at Eliot, his fingers twitching with how badly he wants to touch.

“Hey.” Eliot crosses the room to sit on the edge of Quentin’s bed. “Move over.”

Quentin obeys automatically, and the bed dips as Eliot sprawls out across it, long limbs filling all the available space. The familiarity of it all makes Quentin’s heart go tight. 

He rolls to his side, fits into Eliot’s body like a puzzle. “I couldn’t sleep,” he sighs into Eliot’s neck, breathing in warm skin and _home_. 

“Me either.” Eliot’s fingers slide into Quentin’s hair, twisting and tugging. Quentin shivers and pushes closer, trying not to let the _want_ bleed into his voice when he speaks.

“After all that bitching you did about missing your hand-plucked down pillows?” Quentin tips his head back so he can see Eliot’s profile in the dim light, watch his mouth curve up as he smiles.

“Look,” Eliot slides down the inch or two it takes for their eyes to meet. “There’s, like, a lot to unpack here. But --” 

“Don’t overthink it,” Quentin quotes Eliot’s words back to him.

Eliot breathes out. “Don’t overthink it.”

Quentin closes the gap between them, kissing Eliot with all the feelings he can’t find the words for. Eliot licks his way into Quentin’s mouth as he rolls them, bracing himself on his elbows, one thigh slotting between Quentin’s knees.

“El,” Quentin gasps as he rolls his hips up, grinding into Eliot. He drags at Eliot’s shirt until he can toss it aside and let muscle memory guide his hands down Eliot’s chest.

Eliot kisses him harder, sliding into desperation as they push and kick at clothing until it’s nothing but skin, and _this_ , this is everything. 

“I want,” Quentin pushes up, bites at Eliot’s shoulder. “I want you in my mouth.”

“By all means,” Eliot rolls onto his back, stretching out, and Quentin crawls on top of him, trying not to remember sickness and death and burial as he drops kisses down Eliot’s ribs. He sets his teeth against Eliot’s hip bone and worries the skin between his teeth until he gets a low grown and a “Fuck, Q.”

He kisses the mark, red against Eliot’s pale skin, and dips his head. Eliot’s cock slides against his tongue and they both moan at the contact. Quentin looks up through his hair and pushes down further, taking in warm, and salty and _alive_. 

“Q, baby.” Eliot’s long fingers trace Quentin’s jaw, and Quentin’s eyes flutter shut. He bobs his head, his mouth wet and messy on Eliot’s dick. Taking Eliot as deep as he can. Every moan and gasp and endearment from Eliot’s lips goes straight to his cock, and he’s so hard he thinks he might come before he can get Eliot inside him. 

He pulls off Eliot’s dick with a wet pop and looks up at him. “El, please. Need you.”

“Yeah, baby. C’mere.” Eliot tugs at Quentin and he goes, needily presses his raw, wet mouth to Eliot’s. Eliot kisses him slowly, and Quentin feels strong hands smooth down his sides, Eliot’s thumbs dragging over his ribs. 

Quentin moves his hands together over Eliot’s chest and gets halfway through a spell before he remembers. “No fucking magic,” he growls, frustrated. The part of his brain that knows Eliot’s body like he knows his own also expects there to be magic to make this all go a little fucking faster.

“I got you,” Elliot says. Quentin hears the click of a lid and looks over to see Eliot flipping open a bottle of lube. “On your back, sweetheart.” 

Quention rolls onto his back, canting his hips up and spreading his knees for Eliot to settle between them. He knows how he must look, flushed and wanting, his cock hard and shiny against his stomach. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” Eliot murmurs, leaning over to press an almost chaste kiss to Quentin’s mouth. His slick fingers press into Quentin and he arches, whimpering. His entire world is narrowing down to the stretch of Eliot working him open. Eliot twists his fingers, brushing his knuckles against Quentin’s prostate and all of Quentin’s restraint breaks. 

“Please, El, baby. Please.” Quentin can hear himself begging as he fucks himself on Eliot’s fingers, gasping as Eliot works another one in, maddeningly slow. “Now, dammit. Fuck me, _now._ ”

“So,” Eliot says above him. His voice is steady and Quentin sort of wants to punch him in his pretty, pretty mouth. Eliot twists his fingers again, dragging another moan from deep in Quentin’s chest, then continues. “Fillorian condoms rely on magic. Which means that, in our current circumstances, they’re, well...useless.”

“Oh my god, who gives a fuck.” Quentin slides a hand up around the back of Eliot’s neck and pulls him down, hoping he can kiss a sense of urgency in him. “Just _fuck me_.”

“You’re such a pushy bitch,” Eliot says, but his eyes are soft and fond. He takes pity on Quentin, though, sliding his fingers out and replacing them with the thick stretch of his cock. 

Quentin pushes up to meet him, digging his fingers into Eliot’s shoulder. He drags his knee up over Eliot’s hip, letting Eliot push in deeper, reveling in the feeling of Eliot against him, inside him. They’re young and they’re alive and, sure, their lives are a complicated mess, but right now, with Eliot fucking into him, punching rough, desperate sounds from his throat every time he bottoms out, all of that falls away. 

“El, Eliot, please, touch me.” Quentin is so close, right on the edge. Eliot gets a hand between them, wraps his hand around Quentin’s aching cock and strokes. 

Quintin comes, his mouth wrapped around Eliot’s name, Eliot buried deep inside him. He hears a moan of “Q” and “baby” and then Eliot follows him, biting down on Quentin’s lip as he shudders. 

They stay there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, before Eliot peels himself away and slides out carefully, collapsing on the pillow next to Quentin. Quentin gropes for his shirt beside the bed and wipes it across his stomach, cleaning up the worst of the mess. 

“Ew.” Eliot wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t object when Quentin swipes the shirt across him, too, before he tosses it aside. 

Quention crowds in close, draping himself against Eliot’s side. Eliot’s arm falls around him and he feels Eliot’s lips press a kiss to the side of his head as he sinks towards sleep. 

Tomorrow there will be another key, another quest, another fucking fight for their lives. But right now, in the soft hazy afterglow, with Eliot warm and solid against him, Quentin feels like it might all be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't even caught up to the show yet, I just needed closure on this episode.


End file.
